


The Last Hours Drabbles

by sobachka



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Backstory, Drabbles, canonverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: The Last Hours drabble using these prompts:Mathew Fairchild + “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light”Grace Blackthorn + "There is one pain, I often feel, which you will never know. It's caused by the absence of you"Lucie Herondale/Jesse Blackthorn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Mathew Fairchild

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light”

It was nearly midnight, and the London sky was cloaked in darkness. The trees whistled as the night’s breeze brushed their leaves and shook their branches. It was hard to imagine that anything could disrupt this peace. Harder still, to remember what had transpired here only days prior.

Mathew let his eyes drift shut, hoping if he could be still and unmoving for just a moment, he might take some of that calm into himself. 

_ The trees have never harmed a soul. They deserve this peace. _

The thought came to him, unbidden, and Mathew winced. He slipped a hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the familiar cool metal of his flask. He took a swig. 

_ Have you come to offer me a sip? _ The voice in his head sounded vaguely amused. Mathew slid the flask back into his pocket, and turned to face the real reason he had come to the Silent City in the dead of night,

“I’d offer you the whole flask if I thought you’d drink it, Uncle Jem,” Mathew said, smiling brightly. Uncle Jem looked unimpressed, but then he supposed Silent Brothers couldn’t look impressed if they tried. It felt like he’d stepped out of the darkness, the shadows parting for him in his parchment robes. He inclined his head, a mere shift in his hood.

_ No, I do not think I could. What brings you here, Mathew? Is everyone well? _

Mathew nodded cheerily, brushing away Uncle Jem’s concerns. He threw an arm over the Brother’s shoulders and began leading him away. Jem stiffened slightly, as if unfamiliar with the feeling but followed along.

“Can’t a lad come to visit his favorite uncle every once in a while?” Mathew asked, ignoring the way the world tilted slightly when he walked. 

_ You are always welcome here, Mathew. _ Uncle Jem replied. Mathew cast him a pleased smile. He wondered how a person could retain such kindness even through the Brotherhood.

“Uncle Will was telling us about the two of you last night,” he said, launching into the story and directly avoiding Jem’s question. He had no idea what brought him there. Perhaps he was further into his cups than he’d accounted for.

“He’s always talking about you, you know. I should hope James keeps my flame burning if ever I am absent,” he said, his thoughts returning to his  _ parabatai _ .

_ The Herondales love with a passion like no other. We were each lucky enough to snag one. _ Jem said, and though his hood was up, and the marks of the Brotherhood kept his lips shut, Mathew could picture him smiling.

“We are, eh?” Mathew said, stopping in front of a plain field. There had once been an archway here, one that led to a world of dark sands and dangerous waters. Mathew wished he had been able to see the Shadow Realm before James and Cordelia left it crumbling.

But then, he supposed only heroes had rights to places like that. And he could never be one.

_ Does something trouble you, Mathew?  _ Jem asked, as if sensing his quandary. Mathew felt his fingers twitch, and wished he could grab the flask again, just to settle his nerves. But he found he did not wish to do that in front of Uncle Jem.

“No,” he said, but it was a lie. Jem’s closed eyes stared into him for a moment, and Mathew wondered if he could see straight into his soul. The thought was not comforting.

“I wanted to ask you something, though,” he said on a whim, quickly steering the topic away from the incident. Or perhaps his thoughts were heading in that direction and he feared the drink may have loosened his tongue a bit too much.

_ Go on _ , said Jem.

“When you were a Shadowhunter,” he began, suddenly realizing he did want the answer to this question, “and you needed the yin-fen, how did you keep sane? How did you stop the drug from overtaking you, losing yourself in it?” despite the breeze, Mathew began to feel warm in his new coat.

There was a pause before Uncle Jem responded, and when he did, the voice in Mathew’s head sounded quiet, almost a whisper;  _ I nearly did. _

Mathew frowned. Loving Uncle Jem, who grew kinder and braver with each of Uncle Will’s stories, the one Aunt Tessa spoke of so fondly and even Magnus Bane had been familiar with, nearly lost to the world of drugs?

“What stopped you?” Mathew asked.

To his surprise, the Brother shifted his staff to the crook of his elbow, using his left hand to lift sleeve of his robes, revealing a pale forearm with a light gray tracery over it.

_ The mark has faded, but our bond remains just as strong, _ Jem said, and Mathew found his fingers unconsciously straying to his own arm, where a similar mark lay, black as a raven’s feather.  _ Without Will, I may not have been alive today. He is my blood brother. We were together in combat, in pain, and indeed one day I hope we shall be together in death. _

Mathew felt a twinge of sadness for the two, forever separated, yet forever bound. He could not imagine a day going by without James’ steady presence. Mathew swallowed, unsure what to say. 

_ Your  _ parabatai _ will always be there to aid you, Mathew,  _ Jem said, rolling up his sleeve and reclaiming his staff.  _ But only if you let him. I am closer to Will now that there are no secrets between us than I believe I ever was when he was burdened with a pain I could not ease. _

Mathew found his mind circling back to James. Kind James, who was always at his side, anchoring him no matter how far his mind strayed. James, who had always been open to Mathew, who had never let their bond be weakened by any secrets.

James, who did not know Mathew had sinned. 

Mathew nodded at Uncle Jem’s words, as the latter bent his head and bid Mathew goodnight. Mathew heard himself respond, as if from a distance.

His fingers did not reach for the flask, this time, as he headed home. Not to the home of his body, but to the home of his heart. His steps felt lighter as he made his way to the London Institute, his mind drumming up a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea. A thousand.

But when Jamie answered the door, his golden eyes lighting up at the sight of Mathew, they all left him. Nothing would matter if he destroyed the only thing in his life that was still good. He would let James listen, and if he hated him, then perhaps that was a blessing.

Mathew found if he could walk through life no longer carrying this heavy weight, then he would be satisfied in walking alone.


	2. Grace Blackthorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "There is one pain, I often feel, which you will never know. It's caused by the absence of you"

“You _promised!_ ”

Grace winced as her brother’s voice turned into a shout. He almost never screamed. 

But this was different, because today was meant to be his rune ceremony. After months, well, years, actually, of begging Tatiana to let him receive his first Mark, so that he may become a true Shadowhunter, she finally relented.

Grace sat on the worn couch in their living room, playing with the frills of her green dress. Jesse and her mother had spent the entire day going back and forth, repeating the same argument over and over again.

Grace pressed both hands against her ears, trying to block out the sounds, but some lines made it through.

“-you’re not strong enough, Jesse-”

“That’s because you let me stay weak! You wouldn’t let me train, or fight with the others because _you_ were too scared. Because of what happened to father-”

“-This is _not_ about your father!”

“It is! It _always_ is-”

Grace began to hum, keeping their loud voices at bay. She did not know the words to the song, but she suspected it was a lullaby of sorts. It was all she could remember of her mother. Her _real_ mother, not Tatiana. The barest memory of a feminine voice humming softly, it was all she had left of the girl she once was.

Grace Cartwright

Grace Blackthorn

Grace-

“ _Grace!_ ” She jumped up at the sound, tearing her away from her thoughts. How long had she been humming to herself? Tatiana stood in front of her, wearing a beige dress and the large hat with a stuffed bird on it that Jesse had gifted her for the occasion.

“Yes, mother?” she said, her voice quiet. She did not want to anger Tatiana, lest the woman decide to leave Grace on the streets, where she may never see Jesse again. Tatiana may not be her mother, but in all the ways that counted, Jesse was her brother. And her only friend.

“Sit properly,” Tatiana snapped, somehow still retaining her anger from the fight with Jesse. “The Silent Brothers will be here shortly.”

“For the ceremony?” Grace tried not to sound too hopeful. If Tatiana agreed to let Jesse take his first rune, let him train and fight as a Shadowhunter, then perhaps… 

“Yes, obviously, don’t be an idiot, Grace.” she said, voice like a whip. 

Grace flinched, perhaps she was wrong to assume that Tatiana would let her train too, when she became of age. To let her patrol with the other Shadowhunters the way she and Jesse had both dreamt of doing.

Grace said none of this out loud. She simply adjusted her posture, lacing her fingers together and dropping them onto her lap. _Like a lady,_ she could almost hear Tatiana say.

Jesse raced into the room just then, all signs of his previous anger gone, replaced by an eager grin. He was dressed casually, in a white shirt and black trousers. His green eyes were practically glowing.

“Mother, Grace- they’re here!” he said, and Grace couldn’t help but smile. Jesse looked healthier, even Tatiana could admit that, and seeing him run from place to place, a boyish grin on his face warmed her heart. Despite Tatiana’s concerns, Grace could see her brother only growing stronger, the runes that would soon trace his pale arms would keep color in his cheeks. 

Moments later, two Silent Brothers, dressed in parchment robes and hoods that hid their faces, entered the living room. Grace tried not to look bothered by their appearance as they hovered near her brother.

Jesse, to his credit, did not flinch away as one of them stepped forward and gestured for him to sit. He did so, resting his hand on the arm of the couch, palm down. One brother slipped out a tall, thin stick from his sleeve. Grace recognized it as the _stele_ that Shadowhunters used to draw their Marks. 

Grace glanced at Tatiana, wondering if she planned to stop them before the _stele_ could touch her son’s skin. But the look in Tatiana’s eyes was one of pure fear. She was sitting ramrod straight, her fingers clasped around something golden that hung from her neck, looking ready to bolt at the sign of trouble. 

She drew her attention back to her brother, ignoring the feeling of unease that came over her. Tatiana was protective, ridiculously so. Most Shadowhunters received their mark at twelve, and Jesse would be eighteen in a few months. 

Still, Grace found herself holding her breath as the _stele_ descended on the back of her brother’s hand. It made contact, a black line appearing as the Brother began to curve the mark’s shape. It looked like an eye, the _Voyance_ mark, meant to improve a Shadowhunter’s Sight. 

The Silent Brother lifted the _stele_ , and the completed mark shimmered lightly, like new ink before settling. Jesse’s face was slightly pale, and for a moment, Grace thought he might vomit onto the living room’s Turkish rug. He stood up, a little unsteady on his feet.

But then a smile spread on his face, a dazzling smile that may have been the first real one she had ever seen her brother wear, and all worry left her. Grace leaped up off the couch and threw her arms around Jesse, excitement overtaking her.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Gracie, your turn will come soon enough,” Jesse said, but he hugged her just as tightly, his arms around her feeling stronger already.

Grace pulled away from her brother, as the Silent Brothers bid them all goodnight, voices echoing in her head. Then, Tatiana stood, and though she did not jump in the air or congratulate Jesse, Grace could see the relief lining her features. 

She noticed that the golden chain around her neck was now concealed from sight.

“Thank you, mother,” Jesse said, his voice gentle, “I hope to make you proud of me, that you shall see a brave Shadowhunter where a sickly boy once stood.”

Tatiana only nodded, then left the room.

Grace would wonder, later, what might’ve been different, if they had all stayed together that night.

A shout woke Grace from her slumber. 

She was in her nightgown, under the white covers of her bed-sheets, and had been in the middle of a particularly odd dream, when it happened. She jumped up, her heart racing. For a second, all was silent, and she thought perhaps she had imagined the sound.

But then a second scream tore through the house, one of pure agony. Grace leaped out of bed, ignoring how the cold tiles bit at her feet. She raced out of her room, heart thumping wildly in her chest. That voice…

It belonged to Jesse.

His room was not far away, directly across the hall from her own, but it seemed like ages with the awful sound of his pain in her ears. 

“Jesse!” she cried, running straight for him. He was laying on the floor of his room, still dressed in the same ceremony clothes, but they were drenched in sweat, and he was gripping his hand as if it burned.

Grace fell to her knees in front of her brother, desperate to find the pain’s source. Jesse whimpered, forcing his eyes shut.

“Jesse? Jesse, can you hear me? Jesse, tell me what’s wrong? Tell me how to help!” she cried, becoming more desperate with each word that left her mouth. She placed a hand against his forehead, pushing away his wet hair. She hissed, pulling her hand back.

“Jesse- oh, by the Angel, you’re burning up!” she said, whipping her head around to find water. Water would cool him, it would soothe the fever. 

“No, no, no-” she whispered, as her eyes traveled from the messy bed, to the bare desk, to the door-

The door, where Tatiana stood, watching.

“Ta- Mother!” Grace cried, relieved, “help, he’s in so much pain, and I- I don’t know what to do-”

But Tatiana only turned and left the room. Grace gaped at her retreating form. She might’ve shouted, demanded that their mother return, but Jesse let out another cry and tried to speak.

“Gra- Gracie, the ru-” he was cut off as his body shook. 

“Its okay, Jesse, don’t panic, I’m right here, I’ll be right here” she murmured, brushing aside his hair as tears began to slide down her face. What had gone wrong? What could have possibly happened to cause this?

Jesse shifted in her arms, lifting his hand so they could both see it. The Voyance rune was glowing a dangerous orange. Grace gasped at the sight, her mind racing through all that she knew about Marks and Shadowhunters.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Jesse’s brows furrowed, his face was coated in perspiration, and Grace watched as he lifted his other hand, the Blackthorn ring shining on his finger, and slashed the metal against the delicate skin just beneath his knuckles.

A cut tore from one corner of the eye-shaped rune down to his wrist, and Jesse hissed in pain. Blood began to line the scar, growing bolder and stealing the color from the rune, which was fading.

“Jesse, oh no, Jesse-” Grace whispered, her mind at last connecting the events. The rune. The bloody Shadowhunter rune, their ridiculous Mark was taking away her brother.

He fell back onto the floor with a sigh, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Jesse, stay with me, Jesse- can you hear me? My voice, Jesse, please stay, please don’t leave me, you know I can’t do this without you,” tears spilled freely down her face now, mixing with snot, but Grace didn’t care. All the lessons about ladyship and propriety and _etiquette_ were far from her mind. 

“Grace, step aside.” the voice was cool, emotionless. Grace’s breath caught. Tatiana stood above her, looking completely unaffected by what was happening.

“No!” Grace cried, cradling her brother’s body in her arms. He felt so weak, so frail, the barest rumble in his chest notifying her that he had not gone just yet.

“Grace, if you wish to see Jesse again, move now.” Tatiana said, a sharp edge to her voice. Grace saw now that something was shining in her hand, reflecting the moonlight that streamed in from the open window. She remembered Tatiana’s face as she watched Jesse take on his rune, how ready she’d been to jump to his aid should something go wrong.

Grace slid her arms away from her brother, and pushed herself away, still too weak to stand. Without waiting a beat, Tatiana took her place at Jesse’s side. She pushed his hair away from his face gently, a sad look overtaking her features.

“It’s okay, my boy,” she murmured, lifting the golden item, which looked to Grace like a locket of sorts, and pressed it against his lips.

Then, Jesse Blackthorn inhaled a shuddering breath and released it. The last breath he would ever take.


	3. Lucie Herondale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say Lucie and Jesse? And also our pal pain, oops-  
> Leave some kudos or a comment if you liked it!

"Your hand is bound to cramp if you keep that firm grip, Lucie,"

Jesse was leaning against her desk, watching her as she worked. Lucie, for her part, was ignoring him completely, as if he were… well, as if he were a ghost. One she could not see.

Her hold on the pen tightened, choking it, and she found her mind wondering what it would say if it could speak.

By the angel. Talking to ghosts was one thing, but this? She was going completely mad.

"You can't ignore me forever," he said, and Lucie finally dropped the pen, her fingers throbbing. 

"That's where you're wrong, Jesse," she replied, finally looking up. His eyes were that same eerie green she had learned to appreciate. "You see, it's nearly dusk, and I can ignore you until you simply disappear"

He cocked a brow at her, challenging "I'll come back the next night,"

"And be gone the morning after." She finished, picking up her pen once again.

Jesse said nothing to that, only turned to see what she was working on. Lucie shifted so her arm hid most of the page, but kept her skin from touching the wet ink.

"What are you working on?" He asked, and she had trouble holding her words back this time. While Cordelia, James, and her parents could all  _ appreciate _ her work, none of them wanted to hear her discuss the ideas that zipped through her brain all day and night. The scenes, dialogue and stories she never found the time to put to paper.

This particular piece of writing was loosely based off of reality. She wasn't certain she should share it with Jesse, as it was rather similar to their situation, and Lucie didn't want him thinking anything odd of it.

_ A story about a girl who falls in love with a ghost, _ she'd told Cordelia that morning. Cordelia had looked very sad and said;

_ "I pity the girl and the ghost then. What might come of a love between the living and the dead?" _

And that was the real reason she refused to speak to Jesse. Because, despite her best efforts, she'd begun to look forward to their meetings. Lucie hardly slept anymore as her days were dedicated to training, wedding preparations with Cordelia, and her family, but her nights were filled with the mysterious boy from the forest. The boy who had led her home and then stayed with her, in her mind and heart when he was not physically there.

But then, she supposed he was never _ physically _ anywhere.

"Will I have the honor of knowing what I've done to upset you, Miss Herondale?" Jesse said, and though his tone was dry, she caught a hint of genuine worry.

Lucie tried not to dwell on it.

"Look at your hand, Jesse" she said finally, and her voice was quiet, her pen having stilled over the paper.

Jesse glanced at the hand that rested on her desk. His long pales fingers were darkened by the brown wood beneath them.

He was starting to fade.

Jesse shoved the hand into his pocket, as though hiding it from view would change the fact, but it was no use. As she looked up at him now, she could just make out the outline of her bed behind his white shirt.

"Lucie," he said, his voice gentler now, he let his other hand cup her face, and she had to wonder how he could feel so real, so solid, but was only a vision. Just like the characters in her stories. "I made a choice,"

Lucie looked at him, her forest boy, with eyes a dimmer green in the candlelight and hair like spilled ink. She could not tell him it was a mistake. He had brought Jamie to her, brought him back to the world of the living while barring himself forever of the same fate.

"Nothing is working," she whispered, her vision blurring slightly with new tears. "Grace and I, we're trying everything, and the Warlocks won't aid us, I can't tell Jamie or Cordelia, and I need help. I can't leave you, Jesse, I've to find a way, but it's so  _ hard _ "

Jesse's thumb swiped away the fresh tears that slid down her face, and he leaned closer still, his other hand coming to cup her face.

How could he feel so real, when he was hardly there? There was no heat radiating off his body, no breath tickling her face when he was this close. He had no defining smell, not the way the characters often did in the novels she read, but he was always around when she was writing, and the hint of ink and candlewax had become associated with him in Lucie's mind.

She took in a shaky breath, wondering at how dangerously similar this situation was to her story. What did that mean? Had she imagined this? Had she pictured herself here, with Jesse so close?

"It's okay, Lucie," he murmured, and the sound of his voice so near made Lucie's hands move of their own accord. She fisted the material of his shirt in her hands, as if she could pull him into her reality just by sheer force of will.

"It hardly ever is," she said, something in the back of her mind telling her to remember this. Remember the feel of him, the way his lashes fanned over his pale skin, casting shadowy spiderwebs along his face. The way the candle burning at her desk highlighted his cheekbones, made his eyes gleam.

She would wonder, for a long time, what might've happened just then, if time had been kind enough to stop.

But time was hardly ever kind.

The door to Lucie's room slammed open suddenly, and she whipped her head to the side, panicked, to face the intruder.

"Lucie we-" Mathew stopped mid-sentence, his eyes finding her. He had one hand on the doorknob, and he had already stepped into her room, fully dressed in a dark green waistcoat and matching trousers. He frowned, his eyes going from the bed, which had not been slept in, to the desk chair where she sat.

Still holding onto Jesse's shirt.

Lucie dropped her hands into her lap, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Mathew raised his brows, looking at her curiously. Lucie didn’t dare glance at Jesse as he straightened, leaning against the desk, his body turned toward Mathew, stiff in a way that made her picture his exact expression of distrust mixed with challenge. 

“Are you alright, Luce?” Mathew asked, evidently not seeing Jesse, he approached her carefully, and she realized her eyes must be red and swollen, dried tears where Jesse’s fingers had brushed them away.

“Yes, don’t worry,” she said quickly, swiping at her eyes and turning to face the stack of papers on her desk. “Just a particularly emotional chapter,”

Mathew smiled then, looking relieved, and came to stand beside her. Lucie couldn’t help the odd knot in her chest, with Math on her one side, smiling and leaning casually, and Jesse on her other, still stiff, sending Mathew a glare bordering on protective.

“Oh, is this the one about the girl who fell in love with a ghost?” Mathew asked, looking excited. He always showed enthusiasm toward her writing, and she suspected his interest now was due to the dried tears on her face. 

Still, she glanced at Jesse from the corner of her eye. His brows rose.

“Cordelia mentioned it,” Mathew explained at the sight of what must've been a grimace on her face. “May I?” he said, picking up the paper she’d been working on just before her and Jesse were interrupted.

It was the last scene, and in truth, Lucie did think it was an emotional one. She was always careful to write cheery stories that brought smiles to everyone’s faces, but this time, she could see no hope for her characters.

_ No hope for me. _

“Math, did you come to my door at this early hour to read?” she said, suddenly finding she did not want Jesse to hear this ending, did not want the truth they both knew to be shoved so plainly before him. 

“Oh, Jamie said to fetch you- he also said you weren’t asleep, which is true- I think they need help with some of the wedding arrangements?” she didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened slightly on the paper, crinkling its corner.

Math turned his full attention down and began to read off the page, unbidden;

“ _...there was nothing Lucinda could do, save face the truth. Her best friend, her one and only, her ghost, her knight. Her boy. She tried to reach for his hand, but her fingers swiped at air, the barest hint of a breeze where solid flesh should have been.  _

_ “‘I will love you,’ she said to the ghost, who was hardly visible anymore, just a silhouette in the castle’s dim lights, ‘even as I marry the Prince, as I fulfill my destiny. There was only ever you. There was only ever us.’” _

Lucie’s eyes strayed to Jesse, who stood ramrod straight, his eyes finding her’s, as Mathew’s voice filled the room, and the barest hints of sunlight found their way past her window.

_ “It was a bazaar, bitter truth, that their love, so grand and so undying, that it could never be. The barriers between their worlds stood between the girl and her ghost, so thick that the axes of all the King’s men could not hack them away.” _

Jesse’s shape began to fade more, like a tissue dipped in water, until there was a bare outline of his form. She thought he mouthed something, her name, but as sunlight streamed through her window, and the daylight took away her oldest dream, Jesse disappeared completely from sight.

The tears spilled freely down her face now, and this time, Jesse was not there to brush them away.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some tumblr-requested drabbles of The Last Hours! Feel free to comment similar requests and I'll add onto these!


End file.
